


The Lay of Turin

by SheBit



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheBit/pseuds/SheBit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tale of Turin Turambar and his kin, in the form of a bardic poem</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lay of Turin

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

When days are cold and nights are long,  
Come gather round the fire,  
To hear my song of grief and woe  
And call me not a liar.

In days of old, or so it's said,  
When Morgoth stalked the land,  
Beside the Elves there faught some Men,  
A Gold and Steadfast band.

When called to war they went forthwith  
With banner and with sword,  
And their greatest prize, a fated son,  
They sent to Elven lord.

In forests deep he learned their ways  
Amongst the Elves of Grey  
And mighty with the years he grew  
Until one fateful day.

A jibe he could withstand no more  
He fled into the wood  
He chased the elf who barbed him so  
And slew him where he stood.

In grief and shame he flew that land  
To dwell amongst the curs'd;  
A band of thieves and brigands all,  
Of Men they were the worst.

As winter passed and snow thick fell,  
A figure he espied  
Beleg Strongbow, friend of old,  
From Doriath did ride.

Fair news he brought, or so he guessed  
From Thingol who'd been wronged  
All sins transgressed he had forgave  
For peace was all he longed.

But back to them Neithan would not  
For still he lived in shame  
And Beleg, ever faithful he,  
Would with him now remain.

By might of arms and dragon-helm'd  
Together with their band,  
They fought the orc-horde all about,  
And rid them from that land.

But by that helm his name was known,  
Betrayed by dwarf was he,  
And captured by the foe he slew,  
To ne'er again be free.

Strongbow came, to save his friend,  
And with him Gwindor brought,  
A prince of Narog's Elven halls,  
Through Many Tears he'd fought.

Through forest thick to Gorthol's side  
Their power did not wane;  
But in the dark, by rescued hand  
Brave Beleg there was slain.

In grief and guilt did Gorthol lie,  
For days without a sound,  
Then laid his friend, the Mighty Bow  
With arms within the ground.

To Nargothrond, fair Elven realm,  
Did Gwindor lead him then;  
On Narog's banks a hidden place  
From Morgoth and from Men.

Bloodstained then, he counselled war  
To hide no more in fear,  
Though Gwindor counselled secrecy  
Orodreth would not hear.

On Tumhalad they pitched their war,  
As Dragon came to bear;  
Mormegil had brought an end  
To Nargothrond the fair.

To halls all sacked and pillaged now  
Did Agarwaen return,  
To right his wrongs, his foolish words,  
To face the Golden Worm.

A shadow then did Glaurung place  
Upon his tortured mind;  
Go to childhood lands he must,  
His withered kin to find.

Released he then set out at haste  
To go to Dor-Lomin;  
Of evil Men he found a host,  
But nothing of his kin.

In sickness then for loved ones lost  
To Brethil had he strayed;  
The Haladrim, they healed his wounds,  
And with them there he stayed.

In Nargothrond an Elven maid  
Had given him her heart,  
But Brandir's maid was sweet and fair,  
They would not be apart.

So Turambar, his Fate in hand,  
To Niniel was wed;  
And in joy so long forgotten  
He took her to his bed.

Now Brandir, Lame and gentle,  
He loved the Tear Maid too,  
And though their foes were banish'd  
Turambar's presence did he rue.

Now slain were orcs and goblins  
And little left to fear,  
But fire 'pon the horizon  
And close within a year.

Forsaking Finrod's ruined halls  
Came forth did Morgoth's beast;  
And Haleth's folk cried out in fear,  
But Turambar the least.

All but alone he ventured out  
Gurthang gleaming, black as night,  
And journeyed out to Teiglin's banks  
To fight his final fight.

Beneath the cliffs he lingered long  
In silence wait he must;  
'Til Glaurung there did o'er-leap;  
Through skin and scale he thrust.

Then came Brandir, the bitter wretch,  
Into that killing glade  
To tell of Nienor, his wife:  
The sister he'd mislaid.

In anger at this cruel lie told  
Did the Fateful take his life;  
For such a thing could never be:  
To take sister as a wife.

One baleful eye did Dragon turn then  
To look upon his bane,  
And lift the mist from off his mind  
To bring him to his pain.

No lies had Brandir told that day,  
The tale he told was right;  
The creature laughed one final time,  
Then died from Gurthang's bite.

Stricken then with grief and shock,  
For the choices he had made,  
Did warrior lie upon a mound  
And fall upon his blade.

So here the tale must end, it seems,  
For what else can I say?  
Save Niniel came then hence to him,  
And found him where he lay.

From Glaurung's spell she too was freed,  
And knew all of her sin;  
And with unborn child of brother's love  
She died there with her kin.

So now this tale is truly done,  
As is dark Morgoth's curse;  
I pray you all remember now  
The story of this verse.

From out of darkness unto this fire  
I travel from afar,  
To tell to all of those who'll hear  
The tale of Turin Turambar.


End file.
